


The Case of the Terrible Todger

by Rookshadow



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Con, Dirty Thoughts, Flash Fic, M/M, Sex Toys, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-28 18:04:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3864556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rookshadow/pseuds/Rookshadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has a bad date. Sherlock's case heats things up.</p>
<p>Started as a prompt for 221B Con's Flash Fiction (18+) panel, but then I kept writing and then I couldn't stop. My cards were: John, Sherlock, Wine Glass, Lift, Vibrator/Dildo</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Case of the Terrible Todger

Two wine glasses sat on the coffee table. One abandoned half full, a faint lipstick mark still smudge against the rim. Its contents splashed out after being placed down none too gently and pooled around the base. The other had been drained of its last drop, only to be refilled and drained again. A few times at least, judging from the level of wine left inside the bottle. Two thirds of the burgundy liquid missing, consumed, but not enjoyed in the way it should have been. Evidence of another date gone horribly wrong.

John didn't know why he even bothered to bring dates to the flat anymore. Even when Sherlock wasn't there, he still occupied John's thoughts and every inch of their Baker St home. If it wasn't urgent text messages intruding on what should have been a romantic evening, that left John apologising, it was horrifying experiments left to be discovered at inopportune moments. It was no longer a question of if John’s date would turn sour, but _when_. How long would it take this time? How many glasses of wine could be poured, could be enjoyed, before the evening met its inevitable abrupt end?

This time: barely half a glass.

John dragged his palms over his face with a sigh. He thought he could just enjoy the wine on his own, enjoy the rare quietness of the flat, but it did nothing to improve his mood. If anything, it only seemed to stimulate his growing frustration: at Sherlock, at himself, at the fact that he couldn't, just once, have a proper date that ended on a positive note. Most of all it was just fueling his sexual frustration. He hadn't been with anyone in months. Not that he was expecting this evening to result in sex; he was a gentleman and it was only the first date. Though, he'd be lying if he said a small part of him didn't at least hope.

Were Sherlock here, he'd take in the two wine glasses and John's growing state of restlessness and easily deduce the outcome of the date. He didn't even need to say anything. The almost please expression as he realised his predictions were right would be clear enough. That know-it-all, self-satisfied smirk. Sherlock always knew, the git.

John reached for his phone, angrily punching in his message and pressing send before he could really think about it. It was childish of him, but it did alleviate some of the tension he felt.

**Git.**

**Date went that badly? SH**

Sherlock's response had come immediately, as though he had been expecting John's text, as though he had his reply queued up and at the ready, just press send. The arse probably had.

**Don't sound so surprised. If was your experiment that scared her off.**

**Oh. Which one? SH**

**Eyeballs. With cocktail umbrellas stuck through the center. In the bloody cupboard.**

**You told me not to leave body parts in any appliances. That didn't leave me with many options. SH**

**That didn't mean… Sod it. You probably knew the date would end badly the moment I said I had one.**

**Obviously. You are getting predictable in your choices in women. Chances are high that your next three dates will follow a similar pattern, each ending progressively worse. I could show you the odds. SH**

**For god's sake, don't tell me you have a line graph tracking my dating habits.**

**Just an excel sheet, but a line graph would be easy enough to create if you wanted the visual. SH**

**Bloody hell, Sherlock.**

**Not sure what you saw in this one. You had very little in common. SH**

**Her name was Beth. She was nice and very pretty.**

**She was boring. SH**

**Well, you weren't the one dating her.**

**Not exactly my type and one date hardly counts as courtship, John. SH**

**You don't have a type. Married to my work, remember?**

Sherlock didn't reply.

It was just as well. John didn't need an argument with Sherlock to frustrate him any further than he already was. The last thing he needed was an angry wank because Sherlock knew just what buttons to press and how hard to press them. The man could be infuriating and John had to be the most patient man in the world to have put up with him this long. He sighed and pushed himself off the sofa. Grabbed the glasses carefully in one hand, the bottle of wine in the other, and placed them on the kitchen counter, returning with a damp flannel to mop up the spill. He had just settled himself down again, resolving that crap telly was about as exciting as this evening was going to get, when his phone lit up with another message from Sherlock.

**Case. Could use your expertise. Will you come? SH**

* * *

Twenty minutes later John had paid the cabbie and was stepping into the lift of a hotel. He didn't sense any immediate danger, so he didn't bother rushing. The wine in his system had left him pleasantly warm and complacent. Sherlock hadn't given him any details on the case, so John had no idea what to expect. It could be anything: a dead body, a missing person, some sort of mystery that had piqued Sherlock's interest. Perhaps Sherlock had uncovered and was subsequently now investigating a crime ring that would lead to an adrenaline filled evening. John knew his "expertise" could be anything from medical knowledge, to backup, to just being a replacement for the skull. Something to talk at and bounce ideas off of. Still, anything was better than sitting at home with the telly, consumed by thoughts of his terrible date and how he could have made it better.

He got off the lift on the fourth floor, pausing a moment to check which direction the room was in, before heading off to the left with a jut of his chin. The room was at the end of the hall. The door had obviously been tampered with to prevent the automatic lock from clicking into place. It was an invitation for John to just walk in without disturbing Sherlock's thought process by having to pause and open the door. John gave a polite knock anyway, bracing himself for whatever was on the other side. He push the door open slowly.

And froze.

Whatever John had been thinking this case, this night, would turn out to be, whatever excitement he had been hoping for, whatever weird or strange things he had envisioned on the way over – and he was usually prepared for any amount of absurdities when it came to his eccentric flatmate – vanished at the sight before him. He gave the room a once over look, lips pursed tightly and fist clenching at his side, before making an abrupt about-face and striding back towards the lift without a word. Because nothing he had thought of, nothing in all his years of experience could have prepared him for seeing Sherlock standing amidst a sea of dildos and various other sex toys. Enough shapes and sizes, and varieties in the mix to make even Irene Adler blush.

John was modest man, but he had no issues with openly discussing sex or the use of toys meant for sexual pleasure. He certainly had plenty of experience with both. But there were just some things you didn't discuss with your flatmate or your best friend. Especially if your flatmate and best friend was Sherlock Holmes. Knowing him he'd probably want a demonstration. He'd turn it into some experiment with John as the main test subject and that was definitely not something John wanted on the agenda for this evening, no matter how sexually frustrated he currently was or what Sherlock was working on. If the man wanted to experiment with sex toys he could bloody well use his own body for that, thank you very much.

John's pulse was racing by the time he stopped in front of the lift again and he was feeling increasingly warmer by the second. He took an unsteady breath, letting it out slowly, trying to regain control over himself as his mind offered up visuals that he couldn't even blame on the alcohol. He'd only had a few glasses of wine. That was barely enough for a decent buzz. But there they were, as clear and as explicit as any pornographic video, sending his blood rushing straight to his cock.

Sherlock's endless, pale body stretched out on the hotel bed, naked and wanted. His knees pulled up to spread himself open wider. Moaning in that sinfully deep voice of his as long fingers pushed a lubed toy deep inside himself, another sucked between plush lips. Trembling and writhing and desperately needing more and– god dammit why wasn't this lift here yet?

"John?"

A shiver ran the entire course of John's body and he had to place a hand against the wall to steady himself. It took everything he had to stifle the groan before it escaped his lips. Because suddenly Sherlock was right there in his space. The very man of his inappropriate invading thought standing a little too close, voice lower than it had any right to be. The proximity made every fine hair on John's body stand at attention and his pulse race even faster. John couldn't look at him. Not without something really embarrassing happening. But he could feel those intense eyes piercing right through him, no doubt seeing exactly the kinds of thoughts that had surfaced and hell that was not helping at all.

John pounded on the lift button again, taking his frustrations out on it, trying to keep his features from betraying his thoughts, trying to stamp out the images and the desire that had flared within him. God, he felt like a bloody teenager. Unable to stop thinking about sex. Where had this even come from? This was not the kind of thing you were supposed to think about involving your best friend, let alone be aroused by.

John was not going to look at Sherlock. He was not going to indulge him on whatever it was he had planned. He was not going to work himself up any more than he already had. He was going to go home, sit himself down in front of that telly with a cup of tea, and that was that. Because what's worse than having to discuss sex with your best friend and flatmate, was discussing sex with your best friend and flatmate while you were rather impressively tenting your trousers.

"John!"

" _What_. Sherlock. What case could you _possibly_ have that required you to buy out an entire sex shop?"

John spun on him, finally meeting Sherlock's gaze with just as much intensity, if not more. Two could play at this game and John was good. He was very good. Sherlock may have the height advantage, but John could bring anyone down a step with just one look. Sherlock's eyes widened and he seemed to be rendered completely speechless, but unable to look away. John could see the slow bob of his adam's apple, the tinge of pink that was creeping up from beneath Sherlock's collar and into his cheeks. His pulse no doubt racing as quickly as John's. They were standing inches from each other. The tension between them growing thick and tangible. It prickled against John's skin.

John's eyes drifted down to Sherlock's slightly parted lips and found himself wondering what they tasted like, what they felt like against his own, what they would look like after being sucked and bitten, plump and wet from being kissed. He wanted to press his tongue against the rising heat on Sherlock's neck. To sink his teeth into the flawless expanse of skin and leave it marred for all to see.

God, what was wrong with him? This was _Sherlock_. Only a couple hours ago John had been on a date and now he couldn't even conjure an image of her in his mind. Couldn't think of kissing her or tasting her. Didn't even want to. All he could see was the man in front of him. This impossible man. This was ridiculous. This far outweighed any ridiculous thing they had ever done.

"John..." Sherlock started, finding his voice again.

It sounded rougher, deeper than it usually was. John nearly whimpered at the sound of it. It sent another wave of arousal pulsing through him. If Sherlock said anything more, John was going to have to grab him by the shirt collar and shut him up. Snog him until his jaw ached and he was seeing stars.

"John... I, um…" Sherlock swallowed, took an unsteady breath. "It seems I didn't require your expertise after all. I found the murder weapon while I had to wait for you."

Sherlock raised his hand to bring the object he had been holding into John's field of view, wiggling it in the space between them, and just like that the tension was broken. John was laughing and he couldn't stop. He clutched at his stomach, tears in his eyes. The absurdity of it all was too much. Sherlock was holding the longest dildo John had ever seen. How had he been so preoccupied to not notice it before?

Sherlock was laughing now too, leaning his back against the wall for support. John's abdominal muscles were begging for relief, but the laughter just wouldn't cease. As soon as he thought he could get his breath back, all it took was one look at Sherlock and they were both overcome by a new fit of giggles again. John was nearly doubled over. It was a good thing he was still holding onto the wall. He hadn't laughed this much in a while.

"Oh god..." John wheezed when breathing was finally possible again. "Seriously? Death by a giant fake penis? I'm going to need every detail. People are never going to believe this one."

John started walking back towards the room at the end of the hall, still giggling. Finally giving up on the lift that was obviously never coming. Sherlock followed after him, looking slightly alarmed.

"You're not writing this one up in your blog."

"I'm thinking Sherlock Holmes and the Mysterious Dildo Destroyer."

That earned a dramatic eyeroll from Sherlock. Score 1 for John Watson.

"You can't be serious!"

"Very serious. Blog's got to have a title. Would you rather The Case of the Terrible Todger?"

"For god's sake, John! Are you going to make me beg?"

John paused in front the room and turned around. The look on his face stopped Sherlock dead in his tracks, made him visibly shiver and his pupils blow wide. John grinned wickedly and pushed open the door.

"Not yet, but that was the idea."


End file.
